


Aether Noise

by emmerwrites



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, blatant use of in-game dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 11,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmerwrites/pseuds/emmerwrites
Summary: A collection of short prompt-response drabbles from the FFXIVWrite2017 challenge, featuring my Warrior of Light and others.Spans the entirety of the game's current timeline and contains Stormblood spoilers through the end of 4.0.





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> This was a huge challenge for me, but I am really glad I did it. I managed to write an entry for every prompt (most of them on-time, too) and learned a lot about myself and about Alyx in the process. I hope you enjoy these little glimpses into her character!
> 
> All of these vary wildly in length and subject matter, but each have their own chapter. If any warnings are necessary I'll make sure to include them as notes. Includes some shippy things.

**#1 - Specter** “in terram fatali”

**#2 - Synthetic** “Only the Best”

**#3 - The Twelve** “Madness”

**#4 - Self-editing** “confession”

**#5 - Prank** “It’s Probably Ascians”

**#6 - Identification** “what are you?”

**#7 - Broken Leaf** “public disturbance”

**#8 - Shadows** “Fissure”

**#9 - Linkpearl** “Static”

**#10 - Slap** “Traitor”

**#11 - Mercy vs Justice** “No Mercy”

**#12 - Caste** “necessary alterations”

**#13 - Wounded Animal** “a long night”

**#14 - Wit** “mind over matter”

**#15 - Doppleganger** “haunted”

**#16 - Ceruleum** “Bluefog”

**#17 - Fate** “autonomy”

**#18 - Self-control** “victory/defeat”

**#19 - A battle of wills** “patient”

**#20 - Blending in**

**#21 - Wind** “Sometimes”

**#22 - Monster**

_#23 - (n/a, we got a day off for Thanksgiving)_

**#24 - Waiting in line** “provisions”

**#25 - Obsolete** “Divine Audience”

**#26 - Sacred** “Worthy”

**#27 - Foot in mouth** “Flexibility”

**#28 - Rivalry** “contest”

**#29 - Prophecy** “azure lost amidst the squall”

**#30 - Frost** “steps of faith”


	2. in terram fatali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> […]  
> Parvus, parvus pulsus  
> Cor mortem ducens  
> Vita mollis in stellam redeunt  
> Animam sacrificare necesse est?  
> Cur in gremio haeremus?  
> Cur veniam petimus  
> In terram fatali? 
> 
> \- “The Promised Land,” Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children

 

 

The land breathes.

She breathes it in, letting its breath into her lungs. Her eyes flutter closed and she can see the stars, hear the wind, feel the trembling of the ground beneath her feet. In and out, in and out, lungs squeezing gently, until the sound of the wind is her own heartbeat, her blood rushing into her fingers and toes.

The land bends.

She bends with it, becoming whatever shape it needs. Her body is a conduit, bridge built of flesh and bones, a river of aether. Her muscles ache and her joints protest, struggling beneath its weight, until she finds her balance, the place where the two are one. When she finds it she can see for malms, she can smell the life and the decay in tenuous harmony.

The land burns.

She burns brighter, pulling the fire through her veins, into her throat. The heat leaves in whispers, in murmurs, in screams; a gift and a curse to those who hear, to all who would seek to snuff it out. She crackles, she roars, she sighs tenderly, and the warmth of the land caresses her as it burns from the inside out.

The land breaks.

She breaks upon it, begs its forgiveness, begs its relief. Her hands shake and her voice cracks in the dark, shattering like ice under heavy footfalls. Voices cry out, damning, shaming, pleading, thousands of weightless souls crushing her all at once, only to disappear into the smoke. Fragile specters remain behind her eyelids, urging her tears, demanding her to look upon them when she sleeps.

The land bleeds.

She bleeds, and she bleeds, and she bleeds. Steel and flesh are one, and the taste is bitter, spat onto the ground with a laugh. Her blood is red and it is black, purity and sin flowing from a single wound; it mingles and mixes with the land until she can no longer see the divide, no longer distinguish whose voice leaves her lips. She gives in, but she takes, and holds with white knuckled hands, with the only strength she has left.

The land scars.

She scars in its stead, her shoulders weary from the weight. She wears them inside her clothes, inside her mind, and on her tongue when she speaks. She holds her arms open to them, welcomes them as she curses them, smiles as her eyes fill with light.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Specter
> 
> Really a sort of experimental exploration of Alyx and aether, black magic, the Echo, and the burden of the Light. Inspired primarily by the titles of the ARR overworld battle themes as well as the song quoted above.


	3. Only the Best

 

 

 

It was raining again in Ul’dah. 

When it rained, the streets would clear and people would huddle beneath their awnings or retreat indoors. Some would comment and act as if they had never seen or felt the rain before, despite being lifetime residents, which amused Alyx to no end.  _“The climate’s changed since the Calamity,”_  some older ones would say, and she had no argument. Despite not having stepped foot in Ul’dah until afterward, she knew there was no rational doubt it would have affected the weather, just as it had everything else. 

This particular rain endured longer than usual, and she could sense the city’s restlessness. The Exchange, however, carried on as normal–for commerce had no care for something as trivial as weather. Alyx’s goal certainly did not, though she was, admittedly distracted from her present mission.

“That piece is perfect for you,” the jewel-peddler fawned. Her eyes were dark and shrewd, her hands constantly moving–wringing her own knuckles, adjusting her wares, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

 _Nervous?_  Alyx mused, refocusing on her reflection in the small mirror as the merchant continued:  

“That is simply  _your_  color, my dear.”

Alyx considered the glittering affair that now blanketed her collar bone, silver and masterfully cut sapphires that flickered every time she breathed, as if in sunlight that did not currently shine. It was beautiful and striking against the paleness of her skin and the grey linen around her shoulders–but she knew she was falling for the oldest tricks of the trade: flattery, and seeing herself wearing it.

“Alas, I have nowhere to wear such finery,” she lamented, reaching behind her neck for the clasp. “Though you’re right, it  _is_  my color.”

“If it is a matter of cost, perhaps we could come to an agreement,” the merchant replied, her anxious hands hesitating to take back the necklace. 

“Cost is of no importance,” Alyx said, “Rather, I am in the market for raw gemstones. Do you have any?”

The merchant’s eyebrow twitched–nervously? excitedly?–and she rubbed her hands together. 

“Raw stones, you say! You are in luck, my dear, my sources have just yesterday brought me this shipment–quite rare, and priced at a premium, mind you, but for someone with…” she searched for words as she produced a velvet-lined tray, “…such  _truly excellent taste_ , only the best will do.”

 _Only the best,_  Alyx thought to herself, and reached into the box to find a multitude of immaculately cut gems. Suspiciously immaculate. Surely somebody with so fine a stock would be well known in Ul'dah, to the Goldsmiths at least, and yet she was sure this was the first time she had ever seen her.

“An impressive selection,” she observed aloud, and noticed the merchant’s fingers tapping on the edge of the table. Alyx picked up what appeared to be a garnet nearly the size of an egg and held it up to what little light remained through the rain. “And lovely, at that. Unfortunately, not what I’m looking for.”

“If these are not to your liking, I am sure I have…”

“That’s quite all right,” Alyx interrupted, “The problem here is that all of these gems are fake. I do not need Serendipity’s eyes to know these were crafted synthetically.”

The jewel-peddler blanched noticeably, but said nothing.

“If it did not come out of the ground, it will make for very poor magical foci,” Alyx continued with a smile, and drew her linen cowl back over her hair before stepping out into the rain. "Useless for someone of such truly excellent taste.“

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Synthetic


	4. Madness

 

 

_“If the Twelve are watching us, what are they thinking?”_  
_“You’d have to ask Them.”_  
 _“I don’t think the gods listen to people like me.”_

 

It was not the most efficient detour: in fact, Schism was completely the opposite direction she was headed, but Alyx knew she needed to return before she and her companions left for Ala Ghiri. She made her short pilgrimage alone and with little notice, driven by a deep restlessness that seemed to reverberate through her tired bones ever since returning from Doma. The familiar prickle of aether hinted at a storm, the late afternoon sun concealed by a blanket of clouds, and as she rode north through the canyons she thought back to the Resistance fighter at the Reach who had told her the story of the temple’s origin, of the madman who had broken through the side of the mountain with his bare hands. He used the term ‘madman’ so affectionately, she remembered, almost in reverence.

“We speak to our god every day and nobody thinks twice,” he soldier went on with a chuckle, “but the moment He speaks to you, it’s madness.”

The storm finally announced itself over the peaks to the east, and Alyx stretched her fingers, feeling the stiffness of old scars. To spend decades pummeling one’s way through solid stone certainly sounded like madness, if the legend was even true; she wondered after this tenacious monk as she approached the great steps leading to the cavern and the temple within, wondered what sort of man he was before his desire for sublimity led him to his famous task.

What had he asked of the Destroyer? Had He listened?

A flash of lightning lit up her vision for an instant, followed quickly by the crack of thunder. The storm loomed above her as she ascended the steps and made her way into the quiet darkness carved into the stone, Lyse’s words continuing to ring in her memory.

“I don’t think the gods listen to people like me,” she had said, and as Alyx beheld the statue of Rhalgr at the temple’s heart she realized with a sort of wry solemnity that she had come without any real hope He would listen to  _her,_  either.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Twelve.
> 
> Inspired by some of my favorite dialogue in all of 4.0


	5. confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alyx writes to Aymeric.

 

 

 _I wonder if you have yet heard,_ Alyx wrote,  _the latest rumors of a shinobi and a witch who made an attempt on the Viceroy’s life in Yanxia? And the band of peasants armed with literal torches and pitchforks who came to their rescue when they failed? It’s quite a story._

She raked her fingers through her hair.

 _It is another tale that involves Zenos walking away with his life and me limping away with mine,_ she continued.  _After dispatching his guard I unfortunately found my companion incapacitated and I was forced to again face him alone._

_I do not like telling you this, in fact the mere act of writing the words makes my stomach turn. I would rather keep this story as far away from you as possible, keep it out of your mind entirely. However, given the way our conversation after Rhalgr’s Reach transpired I feel I must._

Alyx took a breath and clenched her teeth as she forced her hand to keep moving.

_We failed. I knew we were going to fail. I not only knew, I desired it. I confess this to you with no small amount of shame and bitterness._

_I never desired for Yugiri to get hurt (and she was not, not seriously, for that I thank the Twelve and the kami and whoever else may have been watching). But the chance to redeem myself, to challenge him again and win back my pride–it was too much. It consumed me._

_For now I will refrain from going into details, but I_

Her heart pounded.

_On that night I came far closer to death than I think I ever have. In any conscious memory, anyway. I have never felt more crippling failure and guilt than I did in those moments, those seconds, and the time between them. I_

Her forehead fell into her hand and she cursed under her breath when she felt heat behind her eyes. The near physical urge to strike out the words she had written, to simply set fire to the parchment entirely, made her hands tingle, but she kept writing.

_I thought I was going to die. And I hated myself for it._

Alyx sat back in her chair and stared blankly at her own handwriting, quill trembling slightly in her fingers. Several long moments passed in silence.

 _But I did not_ , she finally wrote, letting out a breath she did not realize she was holding.  _I was rescued by my friends, and the bitter mob of townsfolk who I was certain hated me (perhaps they still do)._

She smiled slightly. 

_I am told that Alphinaud would have sent an army if he had one at his disposal. The army he had was his sister and Gosetsu, and they did a miraculous job. Divine intervention in the form of my mortal comrades, I suppose. It seems the Warrior of Light is only as powerful as her reinforcements._

_I hope it does not trouble you to read this. I am sure it will. That is why I didn’t want to write it in the first place. I am not even sure when this letter will reach you, if at all. Correspondence with Eorzea has been nearly impossible since leaving Kugane, even for the usually very reliable moogle post. I wonder if you have attempted writing me in that time, I realize now that I would have no way of knowing._

_Once we have regathered ourselves we will be heading north in search of our missing Doman Prince. Yugiri and Gosetsu are confident we will find him on the Steppes. They will be with me the whole way, so please know that I am in very good hands._

_Please try not to worry. I’m fine._

She swallowed hard.

 _I’m fine_ , she added,  _But I miss you terribly._

_Yours,  
A_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: self-editing
> 
> Does he ever receive this letter, I wonder.


	6. It's Probably Ascians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alyx and Aymeric circa 3.5

 

 

Once in private, all facades were broken, and two very tired people finally allowed themselves to look it.

“Had I not instructed you to throw Nidhogg’s accursed eyes into the abyss all of this may have been avoided,” Aymeric said, worry and regret hanging heavy on his brow. “I thought them beyond reach…”

“For all intents and purposes, they  _were_ ,” Alyx removed her rain-soaked cloak and tossed it angrily over the nearby chair, “That’s why this is so ridiculous.”

The level of combined weariness and unease in the room was palpable. They made quite a pair: Aymeric had the look of a man who had been suffering from the same dull headache for days on end, Alyx was already well into her pacing and chewing the inside of her lip.

“Honestly, it feels like a _joke_ ,” she spat, and rubbed the back of her neck as she paused in front of the window, staring out at the rain, “Some…divine prank.”

“A joke in very poor taste,” the Lord Commander agreed and looked at her like he wanted to apologize.

“No,” she stopped him before he could speak, “Don’t try to take the blame for this.”

“I—“

“It made perfect sense at the time,” she continued hotly, “I was tired and wounded and all I cared about was getting those awful things as far away from Estinien as I could. And furthermore I could have simply  _not done it_.”

“So you would take the blame upon yourself,” he made his assessment with the very slightest hint of a smile.

“Shouldn’t I?”

He said nothing, but his expression said it all.  _Of course not, but I know you will anyway._

Alyx sighed and ceased pacing.

“Fine,” she chuckled, smiling tiredly. “At least allow me to concede this most recent disaster was a group effort, Alphinaud included. I didn’t throw  _both_  eyes.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: prank
> 
> I regret that I never ended up writing one called "It's Definitely Ascians"


	7. what are you?

 

“Who– _what_  are you?”

She can still hear his voice. Raspy, desperate, fearful. He’s a crumpled shell of a man, the shroud of his divinity shattered at their feet. He’s starting to fade around the edges and he looks as if he means to speak again, but the words die in his throat. 

At the time, his question meant nothing. 

 _I am your death,_  she answers as she wipes the blood from her nose,  _I am the end of this madness._  She waits until he has vanished completely before she falls to her knees, her hands frantic claws on the floor like she is trying to keep the world from spinning. 

In that moment it’s all she is: the end. She’s pure and tainted destruction, cracks forming in a crystalline surface. She labors to breathe, for something is coiled around her like a snake, and darkness creeps into the edges of her vision.

Years later she hears him ask again, as he has many times since the first, and now,  _now_  the question means everything. Every time he asks-–whether in his own voice or the voices of others-–she can feel a blade of doubt sink itself into her flesh, bit by agonizing bit. 

She bolts upright in bed, drenched in sweat, and weeps-–almost as if her body knows not what else to do. She stumbles out of bed to the window and flings it open to cleanse herself with the cold air, to beg peace of the stars above her.

_What are you?_

The stars are silent in their judgement and provide her no answer. 

 _I am afraid,_  she admits, and does not sleep again that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: identification
> 
> Bit of an existential crisis brought on by the end of 3.0, something she's still struggling with.


	8. Public Disturbance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring my dear friend's OC Rothe Aubrey, borrowed with permission.

 

 

The mandragora screamed.

Alyx screamed too, or rather yelped, both in shock and from the pain, pressing the heels of her hands as hard to her ears as she possibly could. To say the sound was piercing in the otherwise quiet tavern would have been an understatement: nearby a man spat out his ale in surprise and clapped his own hands over his ears. He roared curses in her direction, as did the barmaid who had dropped everything she was carrying, and Alyx prayed to any god who could hear her through this noise that her  _intended_  company was nearby.

 _“ROTHE!”_  She practically sobbed, even though she didn’t see him–but an errant mandragora in the Drowning Wench, especially one with such a  _recognizable_  voice, could only mean he was there already. Hopefully. 

And  _thank the Twelve_  for there he was, whipping around the corner and panting as if he had just sprinted up a flight of stairs. Alyx attempted to choke out the word “help” as he approached but it barely came out amongst garbled noises of pain.

The shrieking plant, alerted to Rothe’s presence, turned around and suddenly stopped: the silence that followed was deafening by contrast. He proceeded to scold it, though Alyx could not hear what he was saying through the high pitched whine that sang in her ears. 

“Are you all right?” Rothe finally asked her–he must have shouted it–with a peculiar mixture of horror and relief in his eyes. She winced and cautiously drew her hands away from her ears.

“Perhaps you should be asking your friend here,” she pointed to the mandragora, now seemingly pacified and completely innocent, “It seems to be extremely upset.”

Rothe sighed. 

“It isn’t,” he said, looking around the Wench sheepishly. “Or rather….it  _always_  is. I’ve no idea.”

“I don’t know how I managed to offend it so badly,” Alyx explained after they had finally obtained their drinks (and paid for everyone’s tab as an apology). “I barely even looked at it.”

“Please don’t take it personally,” Rothe said, “It might have even been happy to see you.”

Alyx cast a sidelong glance at the creature who was now nestled happily in a floral centerpiece. 

“It looked at me like I was going to tear its leaves off.”

“Don’t let it hear you say that!” He whispered nervously, and then laughed. “We can’t afford to break any more glass in here.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: broken leaf
> 
> There are excellent screenshots to go with this one that you can see [here](https://emilyplaysgames.tumblr.com/post/167257367779/entry-7-public-disturbance).


	9. Fissure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Heavensward Black Mage quest line. Follows ["Blending In"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13741995/chapters/31577235) and continues in ["Monster."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13741995/chapters/31577340)

 

 

The fissure in the veil looked less like a tear in fabric and more like a wound, bleeding tendrils of shadows into the frozen air. Alyx could feel it before she saw it appear: there was always a certain queasy sensation she experienced when the Void was bare to the world, whether or not she was the one who made the break. The mage responsible for this tear—and she hated to even refer to him that way, these men were a frightening embarrassment to her art—was struggling to retain control of the edges as he pulled it apart, leaving his remaining conscious companion for her to contend with.

He was getting tired, she could tell. His words were almost slurred as if from drunkenness, and even though his strikes were powerful they were sloppy. Even still, Alyx had trouble focusing on him while his partner was clearly trying to summon some unholy reinforcement; the ward she had labored to build was pulling away from her like weightless cloth in a breeze, and the ambient aether was complaining as if it did not want to be woken from a deep sleep.

She whipped around, avoiding her pallid hyur opponent momentarily to throw herself at his Void-occupied companion, knocking him square in the back of the head with the blunt end of her staff. He crumpled onto the surface of the ice and the aetherial tear crackled and shifted as the connection was broken.

It was very close to her, close enough she could feel its vaguely magnetic pull, and she begged the land to obey her as she labored to pull the broken air closed over the wound. The Void hissed and snapped at her with its shadowy jaws, but gradually quieted; her hands shook and she gasped for breath in the frozen air, knowing her remaining target had probably been left to his own devices for a moment too long as she turned around to hear him shout in a broken voice, scattering shaky arcs of lightning all around them. She stumbled from the force of the strike as it hit the ice under their feet, a deep rumbling roaring in her ears—with her right hand she reached for the ambient electricity and attempted to throw it back.

The thunder became deafeningly loud and she tossed what remained of the cultist’s broken lightning to strike him in the chest, knocking him from his feet where his body slid a few yalms away onto the surface.  _That probably killed him,_  she thought with annoyance, dreading Zhai’a’s inevitable fury, but didn’t have time to think of much else before she realized the thunder was not thunder at all, but the breaking of the ice beneath her feet.

A new fissure formed where the lightning had struck and she cursed in anger and panic as she slid through it into the frigid cold.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: shadow


	10. Static

 

 

She did not realize how much she missed Minfilia’s voice until she heard it again. The sound hit something deep in the pit of her stomach, some deep place of memory pushed aside for too long, and yet—

Even though the sound came from her lips, it did not satisfy the wanting or soothe the hurt that her absence had created. Minfilia spoke, but all Alyx could hear was the Crystal.

Ironic, Alyx later mused, how despite being a conduit for the Light, the only way she could think to describe it was “tarnished” or “tainted”—it was her voice, but not  _her_  voice–somehow colored, shrouded, distorted by the voice of another.

She thought about when she had heard Nidhogg speak through Estinien and wondered bitterly if this was any different: tarnished and tainted and made something else entirely. It  _was_  different, she admitted sadly, because she could hear both Nidhogg and Estinien when they spoke. Estinien had still been there somewhere, and he was fighting it. It was all that had given her hope to save him from his fate, but with her first true friend and mentor, she was not awarded such a comfort.

For now, Minfilia spoke with a single voice, clear as day, perhaps too clearly. She spoke the Word of the Mother, and the Mother’s voice was otherworldly and unnaturally perfect.

It was calm and soft and devoid of life, and years later Alyx wished she could hear her laugh, or scold her, or encourage her, like she used to, full of warmth and care and emotion. She wished she could hear the faint tremble in her voice when she was angry, or even her fierce but sorrowful resolve in the tunnels beneath Ul'dah.

After all this time, the grief had softened, as it always did, but Alyx still wished she could hear her speak through the static of a linkpearl.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: linkpearl.
> 
> Year later I'm still processing this emotionally, I think, so it felt good to write.


	11. Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild violence & language warning.

 

 

Alyx didn’t care that she was probably only hurting herself by struggling. She was overcome with a blinding, violent rage only emboldened by fear and confusion and shock, but regardless her whole body felt impossibly weak, her limbs heavy and clumsy. She swore and thrashed her arms about before they were caught and twisted behind her.

“Let me go!” She  nearly yelled through gritted teeth, feeling the sting of a rope or cord or something around her wrists at the small of her back. She tried to use what leverage she had left in her lower body to squirm away, but it was no use, this man–this traitor–was larger and stronger than her and it was infuriating. 

“I’ll see you fucking  _burn_  for this!” Her voice sounded desperate and hoarse and shaky with anger. “All of you! You  _fucking traitors!”_

One of them punched her in the stomach but she wasn’t watching to see who. She gasped and doubled over, crumpling onto her knees. 

“One of you shut her up, for Rhalgr’s sake,” Ilberd said with an arrogant boredom, “I’ve seen what she can do with naught but that mouth of hers.”

Alyx’s anger flared and she stumbled again to her feet, thanking him for the idea, and tried spinning whatever words she could muster from her broken voice to try to hurt him, or distract him, or _something_. His orders ignored for just a second too long Ilberd wheeled around to face her again, striking her across one cheek.

The slap stung and brought angry tears of pain to her eyes in spite of herself, and he grabbed her jaw.

“Don’t try it, you witch,” he hissed, “Maybe you’ll make it to the banquet hall in one piece.”

Alyx spat in his face. 

“You fucking traitor,” she repeated, unable to say anything more before one of his companions tied a long scrap of cloth over her mouth from behind. She thrashed in his grip as she watched Ilberd wipe his face with the back of his hand, eyes mocking, boring into her.

“You’re the only traitor here, Warrior of Light.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: slap
> 
> (sloppy)


	12. No Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussing an important rematch. Ahlis Ildilayan referenced with permission from the wonderful [melpomeni_mandy. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/melpomeni_mandy/pseuds/melpomeni_mandy)
> 
> This is a companion piece/followup to [her entry for the same prompt,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12886029/chapters/29437698) because this is our favorite ridiculous headcanon and something needed to be done about it.

 

 

“A little bird told me you’re quite the card player,” Alyx said.

She caught the faintest glimpse of Aymeric’s eyebrows twitch in surprise when she spoke: it had been a long silence and the observation had literally come out of nowhere. He smiled, but did not look up.

“I wonder if Ahlis appreciates you calling her a  _‘little bird’,_ ” he said without missing a beat, “I certainly would not think so.”

_Probably not._

She did not even attempt to ask him why she had not known about this ‘hidden talent’ before, for the situation at hand seemed far more important and far more amusing.

"Several nights ago she tried to recruit me in order to practice for your upcoming rematch. Unfortunately for her, I’m not very good at the game and could do very little to help her,” she admitted, “Though I was able to find her some suitable opponents for her to learn from.”

“Suitable opponents? Hmm. Miss Tataru, perhaps.”

Alyx stared at him. “How do you–”

Aymeric continued undeterred “She is taking this more seriously than I expected.”

"Of  _course_  she is,” Alyx laughed, “She’s the only person I know more competitive than I am. Besides, she’s got it in her head that you went easy on her in the name of  _'just practice’_  or some honorable nonsense.”

“I was merely trying to be kind.”

“I am sure you were, but that is not how she sees it.”

“So she is out for revenge, is it?”

“Justice, to use her words.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled, leaning back with a hand lightly over his mouth in thought. “Well I fain say I am very much looking forward to the challenge.”

“Aymeric,” Alyx said in a level tone, regarding him seriously across the room, “Promise me you will not just  _let_  her win.”

“I would never do her the dishonor.”

“And if you win, take all of her cards,” she continued, “You must show her no mercy.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: mercy vs justice.


	13. Necessary Alterations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyx and Tataru are shopping for a fancy dress in Ishgard.

 

 

She appeared in front of the mirror clad in whispers of heavy silk the color of shadowy emeralds, accented with gold thread and a surprisingly lightweight brocade. It was not a color she wore often, nor was it a style she was used to, but she liked the way it looked: the deep green made her skin and hair seem to glow in the warm light, and the square neckline was surprisingly flattering on what she had always felt were awkwardly broad shoulders.

She could not, however, breathe—nor could she shrug her shoulders without a painful pinch.

“It’s  _lovely_ ,” Tataru gasped from the small overstuffed divan in the corner of the room, “You look like royalty!”

“I think that’s the problem,” Alyx lamented, frowning into the mirror.

“What do you mean?”

“Tataru, I can’t even  _move_  in this. The sleeves are so tight I can almost feel my hands getting tingly.”

Her friend grinned and hopped to her feet to examine what she could reach of the dress. “Perhaps I could try to take them out a little? Though I am not sure there is enough fabric to work with.”

“No,” Alyx sighed, “I think I am shopping in the wrong place. Ishgardian noblewomen’s arms are too skinny, apparently.”

“You need a gown for a working woman,” Tataru giggled. Alyx smiled at her.

“I think I need a gown for a  _Dragoon_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: caste


	14. A Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the Dawn. Haurchefant POV, angst.

 

 

Haurchefant had never seen her like this before. 

Even bloody, broken, and nearly missing an eye after the battle at the Steps of Faith she had her head held high, a weak smile when she saw him. Even frozen half to death after facing Iceheart alone, bedridden from her subsequent illness, that quiet hope glowed under her skin, that fire flickered somewhere deep in her eyes.

But this… on this night he saw in Alyx a level of despondence wholly unfamiliar to her character, a depth of hopelessness simply unrecognizable. He could feel it in her very presence, like she were a candle barely holding a faint shred of warmth after being snuffed out. He could hear it in her voice, in the breaths she took between her oddly short sentences. He had offered what words of comfort he had, though he knew they could not possibly be enough. It pained him to see her this way, pained him more that he felt helpless to help her. He could do nothing but offer her the safety and warmth of his hearth and hope that his words would reach her where she remained shrouded in the heavy cloak of her despair.

A similarly inconsolable Alphinaud had gone to bed, but Alyx remained with the look of one far too troubled to sleep. Unable to think of anything else Haurchefant tried again to reach out to her, even if just to be in her presence to remind her she was not alone. She was standing at the window gazing out into the darkness of the clear cold night, arms hugged around her chest. She did not look back, but she said his name when she heard him approach.

“Haurchefant.” Her voice was so strangely quiet and  _small_.

Hesitantly he drew close to her, fearing even to speak, uncertain if in this state she would flee or simply break if pressed. She was like a wounded animal, shying away from the touch of a hand she recognized as the one that had wronged her, barely able to look anyone in the eyes. He stood beside her at the window, his hands paralyzed at his sides while his mind urged him to  _do something, comfort her, you fool!_

“Thank you,” she said simply, and the sound nearly shocked him after so long a silence. She kept her gaze forward but she met his eyes in the scant reflection of the frosted window panes. 

“Think nothing of it,” he replied quietly. 

He stretched his fingers, agonizing over just what level of propriety and distance he was expected to maintain during such a truly monumental crisis. After a few seconds that felt like hours he raised a hand to her shoulder, offering just enough pressure of his thumb smoothing into the thick fabric at the base of her neck to merely assure her he was there, if nothing else. He felt her tense but then immediately soften at his touch; she exhaled and seemed to shrink in upon herself in the dim light.

“It’s been a long night,” she murmured, and he thought he caught a faint smile in her voice–she was trying, he knew she was. 

“Indeed it has,” he agreed, “though not without a dawn, my friend.”

He feared it sounded like an empty platitude at this point, but it was all he could think to say. Alyx said nothing, but she curled into the curve of his arm and slumped gently against his chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: wounded animal


	15. Mind Over Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyx is injured and Alphinaud is feeling smug about it.

 

“What do you mean  _‘how did I manage to hurt myself_ ’? It was a duel.”

Alphinaud smirked faintly

“Is a friendly thaumaturges’ duel not just a battle of wits?”

Alyx rolled her eyes at him. “You _know_ there’s more to it than that.”

“Obviously, but the practice is primarily mental, is it not?”

“Except for the physical channeling of aether. And speaking the words correctly.”

“And I suppose in your case, no small amount of gratuitous wand-waving.”

“ _Gratuitous wand-waving._  Says the arcanist who devised a way to summon is very own personal manifestations of carbuncle.”

“Inspiration born of necessity, my friend. I can think of more than one occasion you were quite thankful for the enhanced protection they are able to provide.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, I am nothing but appreciative of your creativity and intellect.”

“And I am nothing but impressed by your…surprising physical strength. Even when it does lead to unnecessary injury.”

“This staff weighs nearly as much as you do, Alphinaud.”

“Far more reason for you to abstain from any further dueling until your shoulder is healed.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: wit


	16. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you miss somebody so much you see them everywhere. Stormblood angst, Aymeric POV.

 

 

He had begun to see her everywhere.

Just there, beyond the very corner of his periphery, she would appear only to vanish into the visage of someone else, or the very shadows that played in the fire. It amazed him how somebody he felt had to striking and unique an appearance could be found all around him, even if just for a fleeting moment ‘fore he shook himself and righted his vision. She was thousands of malms away, beyond an unfamiliar sea fighting a war in another world, and yet here he could swear to see her just across the Forum: a flash of copper against the gray, ensconced in furs, lost in the crowd. 

And just like that she was gone–the woman he watched from afar would turn to reveal her face, to remind him who she was not, and continue about her way wholly unremarkable save for the passing resemblance. He knew not if he would catch sight of her again, but it did not matter: eventually his heart would leap into his throat much in spite of himself at the sight of some other unknowing imposter as he desperately sought Alyx’s ephemeral shade.

It was folly. It was folly and it was impossible, even for her, and yet every time his mind baited him with some shred of recognition he would fall into its snares and struggle to believe. It was much as if he were haunted; haunted, though it was a wondrous and fair thing that haunted him, one he never wished to be free from. It was all he had: glimpses to pair with his wishful breaths upon waking, every part of him aching to capture some faint whisper of her scent on the pillows, glimpses to pair with the memories of her laughter he could hear echoes of in the voices of others. If he was haunted, he was in happy agony to be so. He simply wished,  _prayed_ , for this shade to find its form once again, to reunite with her flesh so that he might look upon her for more than mere seconds, so that he might hold her face in his hands and beg her to speak only to hear her reassurance that she lived and breathed before him. 

For as much as it pained him to see her everywhere, in his waking and dreaming mind alike, it was what he had. It was, at least, a bittersweet sort of haunted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: doppleganger
> 
> /muffled sobbing


	17. Bluefog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Northern Thanalan is bad for your health. cw: referenced canon-specific drug use? (/shrug)

 

 

“Oi, you feelin’ all right Sergeant?”

Broken from her brief reverie, Alyx looked up and found her roegadyn comrade swimming in her vision.

“It’s Lieutenant now, actually,” she said absent-mindedly through her dizziness, trying instead to focus on the fire. “And yes, I’m fine.”

“Thal’s balls, that's  _right_ ,” the Private said, “I ‘eard about your mission in the Darkhold. A promotion bloody well deserved, in my opinion.”

Alyx’s stomach lurched uncomfortably at the memory–or perhaps simply in response to her current location, it was difficult to tell.

“It was an interesting trip, to say the least,” she said. The Private grinned.

“But just another day in the life for you though, innit? They tell me you’re a bloody professional at slayin’ unholy abominations and other daft shite. I suppose that’s why ye’re ‘ere.”

Alyx wished to reply, but the act of speaking felt impossible, so she settled for what she could manage of a smile. She had nearly forgotten how awful the air here felt: heavy, sticky, almost humid with a sort of non-existent moisture. The incessant gloom of the ceruleum-infused air had made her feel mildly ill during previous visits, but for some reason this seemed far worse. She regretted that her return to Ul'dah necessitated this particular path, but was admittedly intrigued by the recent rumor of demons– _”unholy abominations and other daft shite"_ –among the already disagreeable local fauna.

Her curiosity was deterred somewhat by the fact that what felt to be a particularly bad aether headache had begun to settle in behind her eyes and ring softly in her ears, which irritated her to no end. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, squinting into her hand, and sighed—she should at least be thankful to have made it to Camp Bluefog before the worst of it, even though the thought of trying to sleep one off in this environment was nauseating.

“Pardon me for sayin’ so, Lieutenant, for I mean no disrespect,” the roegadyn said hesitantly after some time, “Twelves’ my witness, ye’ve only gotten more peaky since you arrived. Ye feelin’ aether-sick?”

 Alyx laughed quietly and tried to ignore the jarring pain it caused her head. She squinted into the campfire and rubbed the back of her neck.

“You might be onto something, Private,” she admitted, “I feel bloody awful.”

“We’ve got at least one alchemist ‘ere who should have a tincture or suchlike for any pain,” the Private remarked, looking around the camp. She continued more quietly: “Though strictly between you an’ me, I find a nip of fogweed does best for the stomach.”

They exchanged a knowing look.

“How’s about we take a little walk, you and me,” Alyx said, rising unsteadily to her feet. Her companion chuckled and gave her a Flame salute.

“Aye Lieutenant.”  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ceruleum


	18. Autonomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Rhalgr's Reach.

 

 

_“I’ll give you a glorious end, Warrior of Light! Come! See what awaits you at the far edge of fate!”_

_Where was that edge,_  she wondered, pain stinging her eyes. Where was the line where her own autonomy ceased to exist and her choices meant nothing? Where was the edge of her own influence–over herself, over others, over the world–and what lay on the other side?

How far could her own reach extend, and how long could she grasp hold of her own fate?

Long after coming to the conclusion that the occasional ‘selfishness’ of abiding by her own choices was valid and something worthy of forgiveness, she still wondered how much choice she truly had in anything. Reflecting upon her regrets she had grown suspicious that she had merely been offered the illusion of choice, the seductive taste of autonomy. And now, broken on a battlefield meant to be safe haven, she could not help but think of this elusive “edge”–this boundary between what she could and could not control.

“You, like every Scion, must decide for yourself,” Alphinaud told her, in a tone that hinted his awareness of the statement’s futility. For after all this time, he must have known–how could he not? He knew she had no choice. Her friend’s words offered in comfort felt empty and bitter but she continued to think on them as she struggled to breathe through the grip of her bandages, reminding herself she should rather focus on how lucky she was to have heard them.

Perhaps he knew, but perhaps he didn’t care. Perhaps in the face of her uncertainty and doubt, he simply chose to believe in her autonomy.

And perhaps for now that was enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fate
> 
> Their friendship is really, really important to me.


	19. victory/defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyx/Aymeric. ;)

 

 

She doesn’t like to lose. She doesn’t like to be defeated. She’s proud, and stubborn, and competitive, and she is not defeated, not often; not often overcome, overwhelmed, overpowered. She is always in control of her battlefield, the one beneath her feet and the one that stretches endlessly in her mind, the one forever changing shape. When she is in control, she is balanced, powerful, unstoppable. When she is in control, she wins.

But this is a battle she longs to lose, a battle that makes her beg for defeat. She closes her eyes and surrenders, and though she gives up her control the feeling compares to naught else, it is beyond any spoils of victory real or imagined. For in this defeat lies the invincibility that comes from vulnerability, the power that comes from true and complete weakness. 

Her hands are trapped in his and her senses are heightened to the point of near unbearable intensity and and the only self control that remains is the intrinsic need to keep the fibers of her being from splitting apart at their seams. When she gives up her control she loses, and they both find victory in her defeat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: self-control
> 
> ...because of course I'm going to use battle and competition metaphors for sex


	20. Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyx/Aymeric. An argument with absolutely no context.

 

 

“You’re treating me like a child.” 

It was a bold and likely inaccurate accusation, some part of her knew, but she was angry and exhausted and lacking any shred of patience.

Alyx always disliked the sound of her own voice when she was agitated: shaky and often an octave higher than usual, dangerously close to what some would try to interpret as hysterical, despite how heavily she tried to control it. Aymeric’s, however, remained infuriatingly soft and calculated, only ever raising or wavering at his most impassioned.

“That is not what I am doing,” he replied soberly.

“Isn’t it?” She closed her hands into fists at her side and took a challenging step toward him. “You’re acting as if I can’t take care of myself.”

“I know full well you can, I only fear you do not,” Aymeric said.

“What the hells is that supposed to mean?”

“I have complete faith you know what it means.”

“If you’re going to keep playing games with me I’m leaving,” she said, and turned, but it was his turn to move: he closed the distance between them in a single stride and grasped her forearm, causing her to spin back and face him.

“I am not playing games with you. You are not a child,” he said, and though his tone remained level she could sense the emotion behind it struggling to be heard. “But you  _are_  proud, and you  _are_  reckless, and you would sooner die than give up, and  _Halone help me_  I love you for it, but I will not apologize for trying to protect you from yourself.”

Alyx felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. A heavy beat of silence passed between them before he finally relaxed his grip and she seized the opportunity to grab a handful of his cloak and pull his lips down to hers.

“I love you too,” she said quietly when she caught her breath, “Maybe you should add insufferable to that list as well.”

“I would not go that far,” he smirked. “Strong willed, certainly.”

“You are a patient man, Ser Aymeric,” she sighed, “And you flatter me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a battle of wills
> 
> Help I love them


	21. Blending In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circa 3.0, post-Vault, following the Black Mage quest line. Takes place before ["Fissure."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13741995/chapters/31576545)

 

 

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do,” Zhai’a began, and Alyx rolled her eyes so far she thought they might fall out, “But should you really be so….  _casual_ about all of this?”

He was referring, of course, to the fact that in their search for Waldeve and his cultist minions, she had been doing what one typically does on a manhunt: asking locals for information. The Forgotten Knight was not exactly a bastion of safety and propriety, but it  _was_  a wealth of knowledge, both directly obtained and overheard. Her Hearer companion turned up his nose at her offer of a drink and remained obstinate at her side, arms crossed over his chest, squinting around at the Knight’s clientele.

“And should you really be so  _Gridanian_ about all of this?” Alyx asked him after taking a very large sip of ale, “Honestly, you could at least try to blend in a little.”

His ears twitched. “An Ala Mhigan black mage” (he lowered his voice to a hiss when he said it, bless him) “telling me to blend in in Ishgard. I do believe I have now heard it all.”

“I’ve been living here for a long time, Zhai’a,” she said flatly, “I’m not an idiot. People know who I am, but only a handful know  _what_  I am.”

“A trustworthy handful, I would hope,” he scoffed and leaned back in his chair, “This entire place reeks of paranoia.”

“There’s that keen Gridanian nose of yours,” she muttered and smiled into her drink as she took another sip.

“Do try not to be  _too_  drunk when the Inquisition comes calling after your questioning the citizenry,” he sighed, gently pushing his glasses up his thin nose, “Or the Heaven’s Ward themselves—“

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly. Alyx suddenly wished she were far, far drunker: the very mention of them brought Zephirin’s bored smirk unwelcome into her mind. She took a long slow breath to regather her grief-addled temper, speaking softly once again: “It’s not exactly common knowledge, but the Archbishop and the Ward are no longer here.”

Zhai’a raised an eyebrow at her in surprise.

“But it doesn’t matter,” she continued, gripping the handle of her tankard tightly to keep her hand from shaking, “The man currently in charge of the Holy See is a good friend of mine.”

“One of your aforementioned handful, I assume,” the miqo’te said. “I don’t suppose you’ve told  _him_  all about our plans?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“I suppose it is a comfort to know you have friends in high places. I do hope this means we may continue our investigation undeterred,” Zhai’a looked around nervously, eventually rising to his feet beside her, “Speaking of which, I must confer with my colleagues at the Astrologicum. I trust you’ll call with any promising leads?”

Alyx looked up at him. “Aye,” she said, and finished her drink. “We’ll get the bastards, whether all of Ishgard knows it or not.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: blending in. 
> 
> For a while I was looking back on it thinking that this part of the quest might be really uncomfortable, and then I realized that Thordan and the Ward have already fucked off to Azys Lla at this point so..../shrug


	22. Sometimes

 

Sometimes Alyx misses having long hair. Sometimes she misses the warmth of it against her neck, the pleasant weight of it between her fingers, sometimes she misses the way she looked with spun copper spilling down her shoulders. Sometimes she misses the braids, the ornate leather knots or jeweled pins, the satisfying swing of a long ponytail behind her when she ran.

Sometimes she misses the girl she was when she wore her hair long, the girl who knew so little about the world. Sometimes she wishes she still had hair as long as her brother's. Sometimes she misses the blessed ignorance of the scent of her hair burning, the scent of blood mingled with ceruleum; sometimes she misses the feeling of her locks catching on metal, the hyper awareness of her enemy’s hands. Sometimes she misses who she was before the Castrum, before Gaius, before Lahabrea’s voice through Thancred’s stolen lips.

Sometimes.

And yet sometimes she admires her own collarbone in the mirror, or the way her earrings fall beneath the very longest ends. Sometimes she delights in the shiver of silk, the soft touch of lips and the warmth of breath; she smiles at the feeling of the sun on the back of her neck, the thrilling freedom of the wind swirling her hair all around her like a halo. Sometimes she wears her scars confidently, hears the murmur of the land and the laughter of her friends and sees her reflection in complete harmony.

Sometimes she takes scissors to her hair when it begins to grow long.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: wind


	23. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately following ["Blending in"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13741995/chapters/31577235) and ["Fissure,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13741995/chapters/31576545) and the longest entry of the bunch. More Heavensward Black Mage emotional turmoil.

 

 

The water was so cold that Alyx wasn’t sure what would kill her first: freezing or drowning. Panic had set in just enough to make her thinking and awareness razor sharp, but unfortunately, the mind was no match for the layers of heavy wool and furs dragging her down below the ice. Her lungs cried out in pain as she struggled to hold her breath and she scrambled with her hands above her; the surface was close, she could tell, but not close enough to banish the grim and shameful thought of drowning alone in Coerthas being the thing that finally killed her.

She felt a sharp tug at her wrist, and then the cloak around her neck, and suddenly and with a great and frigid splash she was gasping and sputtering on the surface again. Somebody’s arms pulled her away from the crevice, somebody’s hand yanked apart the fastenings of her jacket and then another hand was on her chest pressing almost uncomfortable heat into the soaked fabric that lay beneath. In an instant she wondered if a stray cultist had found her and was now going to finish the job by killing her there on the ice, but the heat she felt was not fire–rather the familiar discomfort of somebody else’s aether, the bizarre touch of healing magic. She coughed out a mouthful of water, finally blinking up into the shrewd face of her rescuer.

“It would appear as though you handled this with the same level care and restraint as I’ve come to expect,” she heard Zhai’a Nelhah say, and though his voice was characteristically smug, she could see what may have just been genuine relief in his eyes.

“Wonderful to see you too, Zhai’a,” she growled through chattering teeth, “Punctual as ever.”

She struggled to sit up but his hand at her chest held her down.

“Considering you left without me–”

“I didn’t have time stand around waiting,”  Alyx interrupted, shaking so violently that she could barely speak. “I literally chased them here on foot.”

“–you’re lucky I arrived when I did! Lest you were finally to fall victim to your own wanton destruction.” 

He punctuated his assessment with a disapproving look at their surroundings.  She shook her dripping bangs out of her eyes and found the strength to shove his hand away; when the connection broke she gasped, for suddenly her entire body felt as cold as it had below the ice.

“Speaking of victims,” Zhai’a continued with a scowl as she struggled to rid herself of the freezing wetness of her outer layers. “ _Once again_ you have left us no survivors to question. I cannot believe I underestimated the power of your complete and total belligerence.”

Whatever strength remained in her would seem to have converted entirely into rage: she cast about briefly for her staff but failed to find it, relying instead on a trembling, crackling darkness growing in the palm of her hand. With force that surprised herself she dove and knocked the miqo’te down onto his back where he landed with a thud and a hiss. She grabbed a shaking fistful of the front of his robes with one hand as she held the dark and unwieldy storm of aether in the other, seething, dripping icy water onto his face.

She hated to admit she enjoyed the flash of fear that shadowed the eyes behind his spectacles. Her fingers ached with the strain of trying to hold the darkness steady, the shadows bit at her frozen skin, but she didn’t move beyond breathing heavily and shuddering from the cold. Zhai’a seemed to regain enough courage to speak, but when he did so his eyes remained fearful, but questioning.

“You would make me your victim too, then?” 

She could hear a great many things in his voice: fear, anger, disgust.

“They told me you were the Warrior of Light, not a monster.”

Emotions flared in her and caused her control to waver; she bit back a cry of frustration and let him fall back onto the ice beneath her, casting the haphazard and partially formed spell away where it sputtered and hissed in the cold air. She shoved Zhai’a away and attempted rising to her feet, failing when the numbness in her feet and legs refused to allow it. Alyx coughed and doubled over, still saying nothing, harnessing all of her will and control to stop herself from weeping.

She failed that, too, and soon found herself sobbing brokenly into her hand. After what felt to be impossibly long minutes she felt the Keeper’s hands on her shoulders again, attempting to lift her to her feet. She recoiled from his touch but in her weakness was unable to resist him.

“Just leave me,” she begged him in a voice trembling and hoarse between her ragged breaths, “Get your hands off me,  _just fucking leave me!_ ”

“No,” he said simply, and her knees buckled, forcing her weight onto his, “I must get you back to Falcon’s Nest where I can see to your healing properly.”

The knowledge that in any other state she could have easily overpowered him, physically and perhaps even magically, infuriated her, for here she was being practically carried out of the ravine to where Zhai’a’s chocobo waited to bear them back to civilization. She was not even certain how she managed to mount the damn bird when they got to it, or how such a bird was able to carry them both, but she remained silent for the ride.

At Falcon’s Nest she shed her drenched traveling gear and hid, despondent, wrapped in blankets by a meager fire amongst the cots of some sleeping Temple Knights. Satisfied she would be well taken care of, Zhai’a told her curtly he would return to Ishgard and eventually Gridania–she remained quiet, staring into the fire, unwilling to look him in the eyes.

He said her name softly and she looked up, but did not turn around to face him.

“I may not know you well. I may not even wish to know you well,” he paused, the silence heavy save for the crackling fire. “But I know that you are not a monster.”

Then left her, closing the door behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: monster.
> 
> I have a lot more of this particular story to write, Please Look Forward To It.


	24. Provisions

 

 

Alyx looked up just in time to avoid collision with a man carrying what appeared to be a sack of popotos over his shoulder. Her brisk pace combined with an attempt to estimate the volume of fresh tea leaves contained in a small sack of her own had left her less than prepared for the unusually large crowd of people who had gathered at the Hall of Flames.

“Quite a line today,” she remarked as yet another fell in behind her. She was not used to waiting, and knew she could probably cut to the front–however she was in no mood to draw undue attention to herself. This was supposed to be a quick stop on the final leg of what was  _supposed_ to have been a quick trip, and yet once again she found herself inconveniently delayed.

The new addition to the line, a hyur boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen summers, shrugged at her.  

“It’s been like this for over a moon now,” he said, “Everyone’s tryin’ to contribute to the war effort.”

“The war effort? You mean supplies for the Alliance?”

The boy nodded. “They say they’re takin’ everything east, all the way to Ala Mhigo.”

Alyx smiled and observed the surprisingly diverse crowd. The Flames were likely paying out for the contributions, as always, and yet she was warmed by the hope that some may simply be here for generosity alone.

Even the possibility was a good enough reason to wait.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: waiting in line


	25. Divine Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stormblood, post-liberation Ala Mhigo feelings.

 

 

Alyx had lost count somewhere after 100. 

Even for her, this amount of stairs was daunting: she felt as if every muscle in her legs was on fire and threatening to give out beneath her. She forced herself up, one step after another, keeping her gaze fixed on the top rather than staring at her feet. When she focused on the emptiness of the sky above her, the bracing sting of the wind in her face, it was easier to forget the physical discomfort.

It was easier still, she found, reminding herself that the pain of such a climb was likely the whole point–for true to its name, the Divine Audience had been built as a place of prayer, a place of reflection, a place where one might seek communion with the Destroyer as she gazed upon his visage from on high. This was a view she would not have the luxury of experiencing, for the Mad King’s men had seen to the magnificently large statue sinking into the darkness of the Loch below, and now the god’s image lay hidden beneath the salty depths.

The staircase upon which she contemplated collapsing onto her face in fatigue had been a sacred place, tainted by brutality and violence–its original purpose largely forgotten and obsolete. A place of piety used as a site for executions, and thereafter likely just forgotten–either simply to disuse, or a desire not to speak of how such a sacred thing could be so twisted and ruined. 

When Alyx finally made it to the platform at the staircase’s top, she took some time to catch her breath. Even without a statue to look upon the mere experience of standing at so high a point, buffeted on all sides by the howling wind, it felt…important. Perhaps it was the solitude, the quiet and even loneliness she felt standing there looking out over the landscape below, that brought a pressure to her chest unrelated to her tired lungs. Even if it was just the wind that brought tears to her eyes, they felt significant.

She thought briefly about Theodric’s use of the platform and immediately put it out of her mind, deciding instead to focus her attention East, where a liberated Ala Mhigo stood stark against a cloudy sky. She smiled when she felt the familiar hum of static and heard the faint murmur of thunder far away, and she raised a hand to wipe her eyes at the sight of purple banners flapping in the wind. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: obsolete


	26. Worthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyx at the Striking Tree. This is a small piece of something much longer and unfinished.

 

_Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy._

A chorus of whispers, repeating their denial, louder and more insistent with every renewed attempt at access. Unable to win cooperation, Alyx tried to seize control of the land’s aether by force and was met only with the deafening hiss, a whole-body equivalent of a sharp slap on the wrist and a shove to the chest. Lightning cracked the sky and danced around her in glittering, blinding arcs, the very air heavy both with static and with the threat of rain—the raw power of the environment teasing her, testing her, judging her. She was an unwelcome sinner on holy ground, a trespasser by very nature of her existence: a child of man, presumptuous enough to challenge a god in his own domain. 

The clearing in the sacred wood  left none but the two combatants, a young mortal exhausted by her own recklessness and fervor, and the hoary deity she saw herself fit to contend with; the Lord of Levin had been at least mildly impressed, at least entertained enough to not have simply put her out of her misery, though he was far from satisfied with her performance. With his arbiters slain he returned his attention to the Bringer of Light, and her hands shook with the strain of maintaining whatever shred of control she had left. Alyx stood with her heels dug into the ground, the damp earth crackling with aether that still refused to yield to her, and the whispers only became louder as the ward she had labored to build began to waver.

She was as good as naked in the storm, unprotected and primed for a finishing blow.  _He knows the bout is all but won at this point_ , she thought wearily . But as the primal raised his jagged cane into the cloudy heavens another thought came to her suddenly, recklessly, from that dangerous and desperate part of her mind she usually tried not to listen to:  _if you cannot take from the land, take from Him._ In the instant that followed she managed to have an entire argument with herself as she tried to speak the words to cast another ward, and eventually  _“this is fucking crazy”_ lost to  _“but it will work.”_ It had to work, or she’d die—die or fail the trial, neither of which were acceptable outcomes.

She took a deep breath and willed herself open and calm as the air around her hummed. Her skin began to tingle again as Ramuh’s voice boomed into her mind, making her teeth rattle and ache. Blinding light was all she saw when she closed her eyes.

_“By the radiance of eld, be thee judged!”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: sacred


	27. Flexibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An absolutely ridiculous glimpse into a girls' night in Kugane.

 

 

Alyx squinted in the dim light.

“Can I  _what?”_

“Put your foot in your mouth.”

She stared at Lyse where she sat on the opposite end of the bed in incredulous amusement, and carefully set down her empty sake glass onto the end table.

“Why would I ever do that?”

Her blond companion grinned and shook her head, shifting her weight. She stuck one leg out over the edge of the bed and pointed her toes like a dancer would, gesturing vaguely toward it with her own glass.

“I just mean, you know,” she began, a slight slur at the edge of her words, "You’re really flexible, aren’t you? At least as flexible as I am! Can you put your foot in your mouth?“

"Since when has that been a measure of how flexible somebody is?” Ankles behind ones ears, she knew that one, but she remained blissfully ignorant of any such tests involving her actual feet.

“Since…always?” Lyse looked at Alisaie who had thus far remained smirking and quiet into her glass before providing a vaguely affirmative shrug.

Alyx leaned back into the pillows and crossed her arms, considering Lyse with a challenging gaze.

“Well you first, then, if you’re such an expert,” she said, and poured herself another glass.

Lyse immediately accepted the challenge with an alacrity Alyx should have expected of someone who had spent so much time and effort training her body for both combat and grace. She shook her flaxen locks out of her face and grinned in wicked triumph before chomping enthusiastically on the heel of her bare foot. 

Alisaie clapped and cackled in the way she seemed only to do after a drink.

“Impressive,” Alyx said with a shake of her head, and swallowed her sake in one sip.

“Your turn, Warrior of Light,” Alisaie said, “Show us what you can do.”

“Like hells I will before  _you_ ,” Alyx tossed a spare pillow in her direction, “You do it!”

“I cannot,” Alisaie admitted through her laughter, “I am woefully ill-suited for such feats of physical prowess.”

Alyx rolled her eyes. “Oh for Twelves’ sake, _fine,_ ” she said, and set down her glass once again. She lifted her left leg high in the air with a flourish for dramatic effect before grabbing her foot and yanking it to her chin. “Satisfied?”

“No!” Lyse demanded, “In your mouth!”

Alyx sneered and closed her teeth around the inside edge of her foot, noticing with an amused  grin that she wasn’t ticklish at all when she did it herself. She let her leg fall back down beside her, taking the enthusiastic cheers laughter of her audience as a sign of approval. 

“My hero!” Lyse gasped, and collapsed dramatically onto the bed as if to fake a swoon, with one hand thrown over her forehead and the other waving in the air like a white flag.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: foot in mouth


	28. Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little more than an excuse for archery-based flirting.

 

 

Hien’s voice shook her from her meditative silence. “You’re a good shot,” he said.

Alyx raised another arrow to the string. “Thank you.“

“With aim like that I suppose it is no wonder you bested me in our little hunting contest,” he went on, “Though I admit I am relieved to know the full extent of the playing field. I had been expecting you to hunt by other means.”

“You mean with magic?” Alyx cast a sidelong grin his direction and lowered her bow. “The contest was to bring back the meat, not cook it.”

Hien laughed and appeared at her side, arms crossed over his chest as he looked out across the field toward the target strung up onto the fence.

Alyx nocked another arrow but did not shoot before speaking. “You looking for a rematch, my lord?” She loosed the arrow and it sailed away with a whistle, “An even more level playing field, this time, perhaps?”

His eyes lit up at the suggestion. “But of course,” he said, “Who am I to deny an opportunity to win back my pride?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: rivalry
> 
> This may or may not have eventually escalated into AU Alyx/Hien shenanigans OTL


	29. Azure Lost Amidst the Squall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look ye where the sun doth rise, see crimson embers, darkening skies. 
> 
> Look ye where the sun doth fall, see azure lost amidst the squall."

 

 

She could feel him there, even before he finally chose to show his face. She could sense his presence in a strange way, almost in the back of her mind, unnoticeable until she really paused to acknowledge it—his aether was distinctive, almost discordant, like a rogue instrument delving beyond the written music, trying to hide but still standing out amongst the controlled chaos of a symphony. She felt him at the Castrum as well, she realized upon reflection, though at the time she did not recognize exactly what it was she felt beyond the exhaustion and the grief, what she could sense on the wind through the smoke and the scent of blood. But it was him, and she’d know him anywhere, even without ever seeing him.

She could feel the Eyes, too, and though she was certain of their presence she only realized how keenly she felt them when their light was finally snuffed out. It was like a pale shadow had been blinked away, some time after the battle with Shinryu, in a single quiet instant amongst the relief and celebration in the streets, in the glow of the new dawn. She paused, her attention drawn away from conversation and from revelry, and while met with questioning glances she was not pressed to explain. She was not sure if she could have, if prompted, for it was something she simply knew, and knew not the words to describe.

She was alone on the ramparts, but not startled when she learned she was not _alone_ —for she had felt him coming, known he was there long before she could see the jagged outlines of his form, the shocking silvery white spilling over his shoulders. They exchanged no words of greeting, no frivolous talk, instead standing in silence overlooking the darkness beyond the city walls. The wind had shifted, carrying the commotion from the Quarter below away from them, leaving an ephemeral calm, a surreal kind of peace. When Alyx spoke her voice was quiet:

“It’s over,” she said, knowing it was an assessment spanning far beyond the words themselves, containing multitudes. Estinien shifted his weight slightly beside her, tired bones still clad in heavy armor but now free of the weight they had carried for so long. She wondered if it was uncomfortable, to feel so light. She wondered if it hurt.

“It’s over,” he repeated in agreement, the gravely softness of his voice a peculiar comfort. It was better to hear him say it.

For some time they stood together without speaking, the silent understanding between them far too large to give words. She knew she had plenty to say to him, plenty to ask of him, but for now she would not, could not. For now the two dragon slayers held silent vigil over their newfound freedoms, the burdens that had been lifted, and the emptiness that followed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: prophecy
> 
> This is my favorite one.


	30. Steps of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turn off the lights when you leave,  
> ‘Cause we’ve got everything we’re gonna need  
> We’re on the run, we’re on the run, we’re on the run, child
> 
> \- Lucius, "Two of Us on the Run"

 

 

She thought she was out of tears to shed, but the wind thought otherwise. Alyx squinted and wiped her eyes with a gloved hand, struggling to see further than a handful of yalms in front of her. In any other situation her love of practicality would have urged her to wait for more suitable traveling weather, but there was no time to wait, not anymore. The icy air howled over the bridge and through the misty chasm below, a haunting, mournful sound—the sky above them pure white and blinding as the wind itself. Every muscle in her body was complaining and walking felt near impossible: the mounting blizzard nearly felt as though it were physically pushing back against her as she walked, forcing one foot in front of the other, snow crunching beneath her boots. She hugged the hood of her coat around her ears, frowning in frustration every time the wind blew it back down, crowning her hair with frost.

She looked about her briefly, realizing she was alone, and paused to turn slightly. Alphinaud was several paces behind her but moving slowly, his face cold and solemn, his eyes downcast. He moved the way she felt: heavily, wearily, uncertainly, his feet barely lifting from the ground when he walked. He clutched his coat around his shoulders and shuddered noticeably, finally looking up at her when he realized she had stopped.

She said nothing but held his gaze for a moment as her hair whipped around her face, making her ears sting. The look he gave her said everything, everything he had been saying for the last few days, and everything he hadn’t—and she agreed, wordlessly, smiling weakly. She said nothing, but extended her hand; he considered it with dark and tired eyes and lashes dressed in snowflakes, his mouth forming a thin and determined line. He took it in his own, and though his expression didn’t change, she saw something soften in his eyes behind his silver bangs, and when she cocked her head slightly toward their destination he took a deep breath as they continued to walk.

“I must needs invest in a warmer coat,” he said after a long silence, his voice quiet and hoarse. Alyx looked down at him to find him smiling slightly as he stared at his feet, and she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Well, we’re headed in the right direction, then,” she replied with the scant hint of a laugh, and looked ahead to where Ishgard loomed hidden beyond the clouds and snow. The two of them were quiet for some time after that, their resolve burning low and steady and they took their first steps of faith.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: frost
> 
> Ending the whole thing with some Alphinaud friendship feelings. Thank you to everyone who took part in this challenge with me and for those of you who supported me and encouraged me throughout! I am looking forward to the next one.


End file.
